


Food of Love

by yoursfaithfullybinkie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Music, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursfaithfullybinkie/pseuds/yoursfaithfullybinkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tags say it all really. First ever fanfic, concrit would be as welcome as summer rain on hot skin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food of Love

On the bed two men lie prone and gasping slightly. There is a small, satisfied pause. (Beat. Crochet rest). Two brains begin to come sufficiently back on line for coherent speech. 

‘That was like...’ begins one of the two. A longer pause. (Beat. Minim rest). ‘Music.’

Further pausing follows. (Bar rest). Some shuffling takes place in the bed. A distinct spoon formation begins to emerge. It may almost be said that snoring has entered the equation when the other man suddenly speaks. ‘Which music, would you say?’ 

John stirs, rolls over on to his back and thinks. He learned early in his acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes that inconclusive thoughts were discouraged. He plays for time. ‘Which would you say?’ he asks.

‘Zadok the Priest,’ replies the other. ‘Handel. I remember the first time the school choir sang it. I’ve thought since, the first minute and a half of that describes an orgasm better than anything else I’ve ever heard. It starts sedately enough, builds up tantalisingly, and finally doesn’t so much tip you over an edge as fling you, face first and screaming, naked and trembling, into a wall of sound so pure and so hard that you think you’ll never breathe again.’

‘Oh really?’ John remarks, and indeed there does seem to be a slight catch in his breathing. ‘I have to say I was thinking of something a little less classical. Hazel O’Connor. D Days. Why are drum beats so primal anyway?’ 

‘Heart rhythms. And the faster, the more excited.’ 

‘Well about ten seconds in, the drums start. And it’s like being fucked. Hard.’

‘Mmm.’ Spooning is definitely re-established. Silence descends.(Beat. Beat. Eight bars rest).

Next morning John wakes to a space beside him. He yawns and stretches into it, then recoils from the cold sheets. Sherlock has clearly been up for some considerable time. Curiosity overcomes the desire to snuggle, and John pads into the living room. Sherlock is reading the paper and pointedly not looking at the coffee table, on which lies an iPod. ‘Tea?’ offers John, smiling slightly.

On his way to the surgery a small curl of excitement begins to form in the doctor’s stomach. He presses play and looks again at the note in his hand. ‘One minute 24 seconds in,’ it says. ‘As loud as you can bear it. Try not to be operating machinery.’ 

'Oh Sherlock', John murmurs. 'Just you wait till I find Albatross...'

**Author's Note:**

> I fell headlong into this fandom after series 2, and it's been making me fairly often just completely happy ever since. Finally daring to post, would really love a response especially as to how to improve- thank you! Scared now, but thank you!


End file.
